Just When You Thought You'd Got It
by passionate life
Summary: Hermione and Draco have been enemies for so long that it's hard for either to imagine anything else. But when both become Heads of Hogwarts, and then are assigned to do a difficult, extensive project together, is getting along inevitable?
1. The Breakdown

**Author's Note:** First fic, forgive anything I do wrong! This story's slightly OoC (Out of Character) at the beginning because I decided to skip the part where Hermione and Draco actually fall in love, and just began writing as if he was already reformed. The real beginning shall come, however. Patience, grasshopper!

It's funny, because I don't actually necessarily hate Pansy, but I just think she has a lot of dissembler potential. I mean, how can you resist a character that has the capacity to befriend so many people (okay, they're all Slytherins, but whatever, haha) but can be perfectly horrendous to others? That's probably why I can't resist Draco. And it's true, I can't. I think the reason I love Dramione fics so much is because I can identify a lot with Hermione, and I do love the bad boys. You should meet my boyfriend. He's pretty much the complete opposite of me, and that's the way I like it! Haha. But I digress. Onto the story. Read and review, please!

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Draco was stuck in the middle of a corridor, the one that was the most direct route from the Herbology greenhouses to the Gryffindor common room. He wasn't stuck by himself; in fact, it was the complete opposite. He was stuck, by the lips, to the one girl in the world whom he knew from experience had absolutely no conscience. Pansy and Draco both knew that Hermione always came down this corridor on Thursdays—why wouldn't she? It was the most direct route from Herbology, after all. This information had never been particularly interesting, let alone dangerous, to anyone before, but no one was really quite like Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy _hated _Hermione Granger. She hated her with all the passion in her soul, and honestly, she had a lot of passion in her soul. Although Draco always figured it was because she was jealous of their romantic relationship together, it went so much deeper than that. Parkinson hated the fact that this disgusting scum of a Mudblood could get something that none of the purest of pure Slytherins ever got, herself included. She hated that Granger, the biggest fucking know-it-all to walk the planet, managed to charm everyone in the entire world with her condescending goody-two-shoes attitude. More than that, even, she hated the fact that she was prancing around with Scarhead and Weaselface, "saving the world" from the most magnificent thing ever to happen to it. Pansy had known as soon as she saw Draco turn his eyes to meet hers in Potions one day that she could never let them be together. It was the biggest possible fucking disgrace to the wizarding world—a perfect pureblood specimen, finely tuned towards becoming one of the greatest supporters of the most powerful wizard in the world, fraternizing with pure _filth_? Because that's all Hermione would ever be, purely: filth.

Of course, there was more to the rivalry between The Mudblood, as Hermione had come to be commonly referred to in the Slytherin House—she was not just A Mudblood, that's for sure—and herself, but she had more to think about than linger on that for too long.

So Pansy took her revenge on Granger and Draco the best way she knew how, which was relatively terrifying because she knew how to take revenge in many different ways. She knew exactly how to stop Draco dead in his tracks, knew how much Hermione relied on her relationship with Draco to sustain her in her everyday life. Sure, it took time, but anything and everything with meaning does. Anyhow, she had plenty of time, at least while she was in school. She still had a couple months until she escaped this pathetic do-good school and actually taught people lessons they deserved to be taught.

Therefore, Pansy reasoned, she was just practicing for real life. And that's why she cast a spell – her very own creation, yes, yes, she was very proud – on Draco. And that's why he was stuck, with no hope of escape, to her lips.

He didn't know why, however. All he had grasped from this was that he and Pansy were going to walk down to lunch, as lifelong friends commonly do, when she suddenly remembered she had left her book in the History of Magic classroom. Just making a simple detour, the two starting walking there, until she abruptly shoved him down a hallway that didn't lead to the History of Magic classroom by any stretch of the imagination. Before he could say anything at all, however, he was pulled – no, really, more like brutally shoved – until his lips met hers. His arms, in a completely involuntary movement, pulled her waist closer. This, of course, is when he began to panic. Draco didn't want this. He didn't want Pansy. He really hadn't like Pansy this way in practically years. Okay, months. He just wanted to help her find her book, and then meet Hermione in the Great Hall. This was bad, how could he stop this, he didn't like it, she didn't taste as good as she used to, or smell quite as good as he remembered- the only one he wanted was Hermione-

Suddenly he felt his mentality snap with desperation. He didn't want Pansy, he wanted to run away and not talk to her for a very, very long time. He didn't want Pansy! He loved Hermione! How the hell was he still stuck to her mouth? Draco's effort to push her off of him was unsuccessful, considering his body would not follow what his mind was telling it to do. His resistance was not working, and he was panicking.

This moment was bursting- swelling- couldn't stop- frantic efforts to stop her- trying to get her to stop before his life and all his happiness was completely ruined- before someone saw- before _she _saw-

Fuck! Draco realized with a horrible start where they were, which was, of course, directly the way Hermione Granger was going to be walking in a very short amount of time.

Draco struggled against the invisible bonds that were holding Pansy to him, but it was in vain. She wouldn't get off. She wouldn't stop kissing him.

She had wanted this too long, this plan was too perfect—get Draco to ruin Hermione's life, a bit of sweet, sweet irony, perfect plan of revenge, kill two birds with one stone (maybe literally, if all went well!)—to stop for something as trivial as Draco's resistance.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Draco was desperate. How were his arms still wrapped around her like he liked this? He knew Hermione would see the two of them, locked in a devastatingly hopeless embrace, lips joined like they wanted it due to a horrendous spell—this was hell. He was counting down the seconds until he was in hell.

As the footsteps got even closer, about to turn the corner, he knew it was her. It was. Those footsteps were most definitely Hermione's, no doubt about it, confident and precise, not too heavy but not too delicate. The most perfect footsteps he'd ever heard, and now they were coming, and it was going to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, was all he could think, because he sure as hell couldn't do anything else.

The footsteps slowed to turn the corner, and then stopped abruptly. He heard a loud gasp coming from where the footsteps had been, then a beat passed, and shock waves emanated off Hermione and slammed him like a hurricane, and he still couldn't get away from her—fucking spell – and then suddenly, finally, the spell—and the kiss— ended. He yanked his head away as hard as possibly, wiping his mouth with his hands, feeling so so so so so dirty and betrayed, his look of disgust hardly sending Pansy reeling. He pushed himself as far away from her and her horrible satisfied smirk as he could; frantically hoping this was all a horrible, horrible dream.

FUCK. Turning toward the corner of the corridor, where someone stood, looking absolutely horrified. Draco prayed uselessly, futilely, that it wouldn't be her, anyone but her, fucking McGonagall for all he cared, anyone but her-

But of course it was her, and it was worse than he'd imagined. Her gorgeous brown eyes, usually filled with sparkle and life, were dead beyond the tears of shock. Her lips, her perfect, perfect, perfect lips, opened and then closed, then opened again. She took a tiny step backwards, her hand rising to her mouth.

Draco had to do something. Something- anything- frantically he tried to think up an excuse. She'd hardly believe, let alone forgive, that he innocently trotted off with the infamously bitter and conniving Pansy Parkinson, who completely and utterly hated her with a burning passion unlike any other, and that he was completely unaware that she, one of his closest friends, would betray him like that. Please, this was Hermione Granger we're talking about, she's bloody brilliant, and she definitely wasn't as naïve as people though she was. Hell, he'd made sure that she wouldn't have much of that annoyingly lingering moral mishmash chattering in his ear when he first showed interest in her. Even though, you know, he loved her just the way she was.

But he was still screwed, mostly because she _had _kept up with her moronically moral statements that had eventually, subtly, fused into his personality. And he loved her so much that it almost became a fault. Draco couldn't even imagine what he would feel if he came across Hermione in such a compromising situation. He felt horrorstruck and brokenhearted and furious and had a pure emotional breakdown just _thinking_ about it. So he could come up with no excuse whatsoever, because nothing he could ever say would make that horrible concoction of emotions reeling throughout her dissipate. Draco did the best he could in that situation, making a couple desperate pleading noises that escaped from his throat without his full knowledge or consent, but it was hardly satisfactory to either of them.

And that's when she snapped.

First it was pure, unadulterated hurt. Mouth gaping open, mind and heart not believing, eyes blinking back tears in astonishment. Then it changed suddenly, so quickly and obviously that Draco took an unconscious step back, because she turned furious.

And honestly, a furious Hermione was absolutely terrifying. Although Pansy seemed completely unconcerned (she was probably used to this sort of thing, Draco thought bitterly), Draco was devastated and ashamed and completely and absolutely _terrified _out of his mind. She was going to leave him, why wouldn't she, fuck, how the fuck was he supposed to live without her, he couldn't now, not after having such blissful happiness-

Hermione's first step was to dismiss Pansy. Dismiss was probably too light of a word, Draco thought, as he watched Hermione scream in her face. Pansy was hardly intimidated, considering she was the instigator and therefore had the upper hand, but sauntered away with a smug look anyhow.

That left just the two of them, and Draco did not know what to do. He was still terrified out of his mind.

Pansy was about to turn the corner when Hermione turned on him. Her brown eyes were blazing with fury and betrayal. He was scared, scared, scared, scared.

"And you!" she shouted hoarsely. "Why the- why the bloody, bleeding, sodding… FUCKING hell would you do this to me?" Um, shit. She was swearing. Hermione Granger had not sworn at him for a very, very long time.

She stopped abruptly. "Dra- no. Malfoy… why."

Draco felt his breath stop short in his lung, his heart stop beating. It was not a question, it… it felt very final. It felt like she wasn't going to discuss this with him, help work it out between the two of them. And… she had called him Malfoy. No, no, no… she only called him Malfoy when they were bickering and they both knew it was a joke. This was not a joke. Her saying that made it clear that she was pushing their relationship back four months, back when they weren't in love… not even close.

"Hermione, I really didn't do it, honestly, it wasn't on purpose, really, I didn't want it—it was some spell thing, I promise, something that she came up with to trick you—I love you, I'd never do that to you, please—" Draco'd never thought he'd see the day when a Malfoy begged, but here it was.

"Draco, please. You couldn't even come up with something better than that? Clearly you didn't care too much about our relationship if you didn't mind sucking face with _Pansy _fucking _Parkinson_." Her voice was brittle, cracking with bitterness, and his heart plummeting down to his feet and flew back to his throat in short succession. "You _know _how I feel about her! Out of everyone in this entire school, you pick _her_?!"

He knew what she was about to say, and he couldn't stop it, no matter how much he wanted to, not matter how much he wanted those words to stop falling out of her mouth and into his stupid mind-

"Hermione- wait –"

"Draco, we're done here. All you've done is lie your entire life, I don't know why I thought you'd change for me. I'm tired of you doing this to me. There, now you're not the biggest bloody idiot in the world, I am. It's over. I've always hated liars, and I've always hated cheaters, wow, I've always hated you. So here's to fourth year, eh? I hate you, Malfoy, even more than I did then, because this time… this time, you've broken my sodding heart."

She started to walk away, and he felt himself falling, falling, falling, faster and faster, until he was terrified he was going to hit rock bottom. It was one of those moments when the bitter realization of true life hits you – the moment you realize that all those times you thought you were in control were just a lie. Draco suddenly realized, with a terrifying clarity, that his life was never in his hands—he just always thought it was. It was walking with confidence across a party, only to have the rug yanked out from underneath you. It was driving down a deserted highway, feeling free and glorious, only to hit a patch of black ice and slide your way into no control. It was walking into the bathroom, hearing your best friend talk about how much you annoy her all the time. It was that terrifying moment of free-fall, when you know that one tiny decision could change your entire life.

She had left him.

The worse part is that he deserved it. Not because of this stupid moment with this one stupid spell, but because this wasn't the first time she had walked in on him and another girl.

Fuck. He deserved everything he got.


	2. The Mystery of Head Boy

**A/N: Yeah, my story's going to switch from present tense to past tense. I've done the best I can to make it not confusing, so please tell me if it is at all. I'm trying to slowly introduce the flashbacks, as they are the real plot in this story. So be patient, and keep reading and reviewing! Thanks, everyone.**

**Disclaimer: Silly goose, not mine! The plot's pretty awesome, though ;)**

Somehow Draco had managed to get all the way to the Heads' Common Room, through the painting, and into his own room. He didn't know how, or how long he had been there, but he did realize that he was sprawled across his bed in an extremely uncomfortable manner.

It didn't matter to him, though. He shifted his arm so it sat even more uncomfortably. Good. A little outside pain to match his inside pain.

Oh, Merlin, did he really just think that? He felt like one of those stupid little pansy ninny boys who whine all day and wear only black robes every day, just to "make a statement."

Draco paused. He didn't care. That's what he felt like right now—absolutely bloody miserable. He stared blankly at the ceiling.

The minute hand moved ahead one notch. He kept staring.

The hour hand moved… three notches. Nothing changed. All he felt like doing was doing was thinking, thinking about her, and how they finally ended up together after years of turbulence.

And so he did. Because, really, he had nothing left. No one would miss him. His last class of the day had already ended (not that he would have moved had there been more), and the sole person who would have noticed or cared about his lack of appearance was the one who currently put him in this position. So he laid there for hours, hopelessly remembering how his past indiscretions were forgiven, and thinking with a twist of irony that the most magical thing in his life had come from the one Mudblood he hated the most of all.

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Hermione, on the other hand, was doing the complete opposite of Draco. She was surrounded by all her schoolbooks (plus a couple she had filched from Harry on the way out) and was writing furiously. She paused only to frantically rustle through the massive tomes and then flip through the pages, double (well, fine, quadruple) checking her references. She was not thinking. Well, of course she was thinking—can you ever not think?—but she focused entirely on the task at hand. She knew she was just trying to avoid what she had just seen transpire, and hoping desperately that if she put off her feelings long enough they would eventually just dissipate into thin air.

That hadn't happened any of the times she had tried it before, though.

And really, she knew in her heart it wasn't working this time, either. The moment her quill lifted from the parchment, she felt the panic of tears and the overwhelmingly frantic feeling of heartbreak threatening to take over. So her decision was quick and extremely practical.

She wrote in cursive.

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It was dark in Draco's room. He didn't care. Was he hungry? He didn't know. He didn't know what time it was, he didn't know when his next class was, hell, he didn't even know his own name. All he could concentrate on was how he had lost the one lifeline he had held onto throughout this horrible shipwreck of a year.

And, boy, was he mopey.

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Hermione had just finished her last assignment. Well, really it was her last non-assignment, because Professor McGonagall hadn't actually assigned it to the class, but she had mentioned to Hermione in passing that she was thinking about assigning a half-roll of parchment about transfiguring shoes into blow-up rescue devices to save Muggles when they inevitably sunk one of their ships in the most hopeless of places. So Hermione did it, although they had already graduated from that topic and moved onto transfiguring handkerchiefs into parachutes. It was a worse-case scenario unit, which Hermione enjoyed immensely, but she couldn't help but think dryly that it didn't manage to help her in her worst-case scenario.

Trying to brush off the thoughts of Draco and Pansy locked together passionately, Hermione briskly got up and walked into her Heads room. Apparently it didn't matter that she shared a Common Room with Draco, because she hadn't seen him at all in the past two days.

Good. The prick.

Just as she finished thinking that she fancied a walk around the Astronomy tower, a sob shook her body, coming out of nowhere. Startled, she looked down at her body, wondering where it had originated, but then it struck again, harder this time. It broke down all her defenses. She had no idea where it came from – was she even thinking about him? – but there was no escape from the mallet of pain and heartbreak that just slammed her head. Curling up underneath all the blankets in her bed, she thought morosely of the summer, before this whole mess had all started.

**(Flashback)**

She was sitting in her room at home, eagerly grasping the unusually thick letter Hogwarts had just sent. She had been waiting for this moment for such a long time. Why else would it be so thick? It never had been in the past. Fervently, she prayed that her dreams of being Head Girl were realized… opening the envelope furiously (but neatly, of course) she pulled out the papers held within, savoring the anticipation. Just as she did so, a small piece of fabric fell from the letter, flashing the words "_Head Girl_". Screaming with joy, she raced down to show her parents. It was perfect! Everything she had been waiting for and worked for all her life! It came true! Her dreams came true!

It was not until after her parents took her out to dinner and Ron and Harry had sent their congratulations (Ron's letter: _So. Hermione. I bet two galleons that you're Head Girl. You better be Head Girl. Otherwise you're coming up with two galleons_) that she realized she didn't know who Head Boy was. Laying in her bed, still wrapped in the glorious happiness from the evening, she contemplated the possibilities.

There was Ernie MacMillian, who was definitely brilliant enough to become Head Boy. He followed to rules just as impeccably as she did, sucked up to the teachers even more, and was ten times as insufferable. Hermione groaned at the thought of dealing with him all year round. Heads have to work together every day. They often have the same classes, and they definitely have the same duties. Not only that, they share the Heads Common room, with their two rooms branching off of it. Yes, she would be spending a lot of time with the Head Boy, and she didn't know if she could take Ernie MacMillian that much. He was definitely one you took in small doses.

Then there was Blaise Zabini. He definitely had the skills to become a Head. Although he was a Slytherin, they got on pretty well. They had had an Ancient Runes project together fifth year and had – dare she say it – a fabulous time. He was funny, in that cocky Slytherin way, and really didn't seem to care that she was Muggleborn, unlike everyone else in that house. Overall, Hermione would be glad if it was Blaise. He had a laid-back sense of humor, and was just one of those guys that once you finally got over the stress of meeting made you feel like his best friend.

So, nestling beneath her covers happily, she assumed it was Blaise. She knew Dumbledore would know that they got on well, he knew sodding everything, and was comforted by the fact that he would put her with someone she thoroughly enjoyed. Everyone knows that people who get along such as the two of them work famously well. After all, hadn't they gotten above a perfect score on their Runes projects? It was done so well that they actually got House points awarded. And that had never happened before.

So yes. Blaise and Hermione. Head Boy and Girl. It was perfect.

And how ridiculously wrong she had been.


	3. The Party

**A/N: Just wanted to write a note to pstibbons. You bring up a great point, and I want to clear it up. You're going to have to "endure" a lot of flashbacks, because that's how I'm going to tell this story. Think about it this way: the beginning is really just the foreshadowing of the future. Honestly, though, it's less that there's going to be a lot of flashbacks, and more that there are going to be a couple flash-forwards. For example, the first chapter was a flash-forward. I'm going to be introducing the flashbacks, like I did in Chapter Two, as the actual plot, which is going to eventually lead into where the flash-forward begin. The actual storyline is Draco and Hermione falling in love, and as you can tell, the first chapter was where they had already done so. These flashbacks are going to describe their lives until it reaches that breakup scene. **

**Haha, I know writers are supposed to have a way with words… irony, huh? You should hear me talk ) Please ask if you have any more questions! Thanks for the reviews! I love nice reviews!**

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When Hermione arrived at Platform 9 and ¾ on September 1st, she was absolutely thrilled. Not only was she Head Girl, but she was a seventh year! Seventh years got to do exciting, mysterious things the rest of the school had only heard distant rumors of. Of course, she doubted it was quite as glamorous as she had heard – honestly, there were NEWTs to study for –but she was still ridiculously excited. Grinning broadly, she kissed her parents goodbye (they had declared quite stubbornly that if Hermione had gotten used to the barrier, then they would, as well, for nothing would stop them from sending off their only child!) and boarded the train, dragging her huge trunk behind her. Although she knew that she was supposed to go to the Heads compartment later to meet with the new Head Boy and Professor McGonagall, Hermione figured that she would touch base with Ron and Harry before she did so. She hadn't seen them in a few days, as her parents decided to steal her back from the Burrow for a week before she went back to school, and she missed them. Hermione knew Ron and Harry too well to expect them to wait for her to find a compartment, so, smiling reminiscently, she peeked through each compartment window until she found them.

And find them she did, not that she expected the sight she stared in on. Clearly there were other seventh years that were even more excited about being the rulers of the school than she, because the teeny compartment that Harry and Ron were currently ensconced in was packed to the brim with people dancing like it was a nightclub. Lights flashed (how they managed that, she'd never know), party favors hung from the ceiling, and feeling the compartment door, she felt the pumping of bass. In the center of the very small compartment (had they really put an Enlarging spell on it? That was some impressive bit of magic, if they had. Of course, they couldn't remember how to do one to save their lives in Charms, she thought crossly, but that's boys for you), was Ron and Harry, looking extremely pleased with themselves. Pleased enough to have… to have arranged this whole thing. Ginny, who was wearing a Muggle party hat, held a mysterious drink in her hand. She was sitting on Harry's lap, beaming, and unexpectedly placed a big, wet kiss on his cheek. He grinned at her in response, while Ron rolled his eyes, smiling despite his faux disgust.

Hermione was stunned. They arranged all of this… on the _Hogwarts Train_?! They were going to be in so much trouble! If the Prefects were to find out, or worse, the Heads, all hell would break loose! The Heads would go to Professor McGonagall, and who knows what she would do! She could suspend them, or exp- oh. Wait. _She _was a Head.

And she _did_ find them.

What a pickle.

Standing there for a moment indecisively, she slid open the door quickly as to not let the sound out and slipped her way through the small opening. Pushing her way through the throngs of people (honestly, how _did _they fit so many people in here? This was ridiculous!), she managed to reach the center where Ron, Harry and Ginny were seated, laughing loudly at a joke Ron had just cracked.

Hermione cleared her throat and their laughter died quickly. It wasn't that she was a mood-killer, or anything, it was just that is was completely obvious that the boys had figured she would go directly to the Heads compartment and not bother to look for them. They looked guiltier about not inviting her than anything. Of course, Hermione was rather furious that she wasn't invited – and that it really didn't seem to be a simple oversight – but also that they had put her in this hideous position. They knew she couldn't possibly pretend to forget to report an incident like this—there were probably about thirty people packed into this compartment! Looking around, however, Hermione did momentarily manage to shake off the indignation to appreciate how well the Enlarging charm had worked.

But that was seriously besides the point. The boys and Ginny, noticeably apprehensive, were clearly gauging her reaction. She spluttered, not knowing where to begin.

"You- boys- how- when- how did this happen?!"

Ron and Harry shared a look. They clearly hadn't thought of an excuse because they clearly hadn't expected getting caught. This is why they always had Hermione's help, Harry thought ironically. They weren't remarkable at coming up with quick excuses.

Despite the fact that Ron's mouth was gaping open, it seemed as though his vocal cords were going to stay firmly in place. Ginny, realizing the situation, slid out of Harry's lap and knit her fingers together, looking ashamed. Although it had been the boys' idea to throw a party on the train, she had been more than happy to help. Everyone knew her Enlarging charm blew away the OWLs test fifth year.

Except Hermione, obviously. She was still staring at the boys in a combination of shock and dismay, really trying to judge whether or not the boys had actually put her in this kind of position. I mean, really, she thought crossly, what kind of best friends know that they're going to throw a party and don't even invite me?

Harry had had enough of this awkward situation. He started to open his mouth to explain how it had begun – it really had started as an idea stemmed from a slightly intoxicated Dean over the summer – but didn't get the chance. A dry voice cut through the background noise.

"Now, now. Did the famous Scarhead _really_ throw a party on the Hogwarts train? I would hope not, because then the probability of a Head catching them would be absolutely astronomical. And, oh, wait! What's that? One third of the Golden Trio is a Head? How perfectly _hideous_ for her. What a devastating conundrum. Well, perhaps I can be of assistance."

Draco Malfoy was leaning against the window frame, arms crossed, looking very pleased with himself. In fact, he was positively basking in the looks of disbelief that had spread across the faces of his small audience. Ginny was alarmed to see the rage that appeared quickly on Harry and Ron's expressions, and quickly positioned herself between the two of them and Malfoy. She really could not care less about Malfoy, the prick, but she certainly did not want her boyfriend and her brother to be put on suspension so early in the year for beating his face in. Besides, Mrs. Weasley would have her head if they got in a fight, even if there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.

Hermione, on the other hand, was sporting a look of pure, unadulterated shock. Malfoy seemed to be particularly interested in her reaction. Something had clearly crossed her mind—fuck! No! He couldn't possibly be the other Head! He wouldn't make a claim like that, especially as smugly, if he wasn't. No! No no no! This was absolutely, perfectly, and completely hideous. THIS is who Dumbledore thought she would do well with? THIS is who she would have to work closely with for the entire year? THIS is who she would have to LIVE with?

No, no, no. She was absolutely horrified. And judging by the look on Draco Malfoy's smug look, she knew she had deduced absolutely and terrifyingly correct.

For the first time in her life, Hermione desperately hoped she was wrong.


	4. Irony's Interest

**A/N: Still have some marvelous ideas for this fic. I'm so excited! Please keep reading and reviewing. I love you guys! Oh, and if you haven't watched "Potter Puppet Pals" on YouTube yet, I seriously suggest you do so! I've had the song stuck in my head for days now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. It's really a pity, because I would never stop writing his books if I did. Damn you, JK Rowling! Why, why, why is the series already over? (Breaks down in desperate sobs.)**

Hermione Granger, being more of the practical type, hardly acknowledged the irony in her life. On the other hand, however, Irony very much acknowledged her. In fact, Irony quite liked her – perhaps because she disregarded it so – and therefore played a large part in her life, appreciated or not by Ms. Granger. Irony was present first year when she was rescued from the troll by the very boys who had made her cry; it was present fourth year when she was actually asked to go to a dance with a very famous person, only to get asked a couple days later by the very person she had been waiting for all those years; it had taken up a large portion of her life by allowing her to become the best witch of her age, despite her not having known the magical world even existed until she was already eleven years old.

Hermione had rather condescendingly disregarded all the ironic situations in her life, right up until this moment, for she was not necessarily the type to ponder insignificant factors unless she had been assigned to do so. Irony had finally beaten her into recognition, however, and painfully so, when it introduced Draco Malfoy fully into her life. Because there simply was no way to deny what was standing in front of her: a smirking blonde boy with a flashing Head Boy badge, smugly soaking in her mounting horror. The look on his face made it vividly clear that he was very much enjoying ruining her life.

Ginny, looking between Hermione and Malfoy a couple times in quick succession, nervously glanced at the other two boys, whose rage had quickly simmered into avid interest into the new development. She nudged Harry, and when he didn't respond to her, slammed her elbow into his side, causing him to wince in surprise and cast an annoyed look at her.

"Help me get them- OUT- of- here," she said, between clenched teeth, gesturing to the throngs of oblivious partiers surrounding them with her eyes. Understanding dawned quickly, and nudging Ron, the three of them slid out of Hermione's periphery and started to usher people out the door unceremoniously.

The odd thing was, however, than Hermione and Malfoy had not really quit their stare-down. Hermione's look had shifted from confusion, comprehension, and horror, to her newest face, a set determination, which was matched equally by Malfoy himself. Malfoy had straightened himself out and the two of them were standing face to face.

"So, Granger, for the smartest witch in our class, you aren't very quick on the uptake," Malfoy drawled.

Hermione's face was pulled taunt with bitterness. "Well, _Malfoy, _I suppose I wasn't under the illusion that one could buy their way into becoming Head Boy, considering it clearly wasn't your _talent_ that won you that position."

"Oh, ho! You're feeling particularly feisty today!" he said with a grin obviously meant to anger her further.

"I _hardly _know what you're talking about. This is the way I always act when I'm forced to talk to obnoxiously self-centered spoiled pricks."

Malfoy gave up the cheerful façade. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Granger, you think you're so amazing—news flash, brownnose. Nobody likes you. You were actually thinking of turning in two-thirds of the Golden Trio to McGonagall, weren't you? Were you even invited to this little shindig, Mudblood?" He said with a sneer. In his pause, he was slightly taken aback at the surprised look in her eye which disappeared immediately thereafter, replaced with a bitter shield. So, he thought viciously, I hit a sore spot.

Her reaction was violent, sudden, and surprisingly mocking. "Malfoy, nothing you say ever hurts me—haven't you gotten this through your thick skull yet? You've taunted me for years, how absolutely tedious. I don't know how you haven't killed yourself from boredom yet. And, honestly, I seem to recall many a time in which I was the successor of our 'battle of wits', if you could call it that, battling with you. In fact, I vaguely recollect beating the crap out of you. So why don't you back the fuck off and let me handle this situation?"

Before he could recover from his shock—had the prudish Mudblood really just sworn?—she had shoved past him very hard and was quickly vanishing away the remnants of the party.

In fact, there was scarcely anything left to prove that there had even been a party in the compartment, besides a couple of bright favors that had somehow gotten caught in the impossibly small opening in the luggage rack. She was furiously yanking on them, muttering to herself in irritation, because for some reason the magic wasn't making it disappear. He watched in condescending amusement for a moment, before putting in his one last word.

"Oh, and by the way, Mudblood... McGonagall knows all about your little party. Seems that a more _trustworthy _student than yourself decided to take the initiative and do the right thing. I'd expect that you'll be getting a summons anytime now."

And then he sauntered away, not even pausing to revel in his success.

**My winter break is winding down to the end. You'll have to forgive me if it takes a little longer in a few weeks to update, I'm a full-time student who holds down two part-time jobs along with extracurriculars, AP classes, and the occasional bit of social life. Overachiever? You don't even know the half of it. Read, review, and forgive, please! Love you guys.**


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